


Humanitarian Aid

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-28
Updated: 2009-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dude, I can't do this if you're <i>staring</i> at me," Dean tells him, because he's an <i>angel</i> for god's sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humanitarian Aid

Dean jerks off in the shower.

One hand on the wall, the other moving in quick, slippery pulls on his cock.

He doesn't bother with finesse, he just wants to come. He's spent too long hard, suffering under the frustrated aching weight of it, all the way back to the motel.

He'd stomped straight past Castiel, and his impending _'seals, apocalypse, blah, blah blah,'_ spiel, and pretty much shut the bathroom door in his face.

Because, right now, the only thing he wants is _this_.

He ends up groaning in the spray, not caring too much whether he's drowning, the roar of the water covering the noise he makes, probably, and cursing every single amateur witch who thinks sex magic can solve all their damn problems.

At least his erection _stays_ gone, because he knows too damn well what the consequences of sex magic can be. Knows because of a fucking miserable night in a motel in Oregon, where he'd come perilously close to permanently damaging his own dick.

He puts his own dusty clothes back on, shakes his hair mostly dry, and opens the door.

Castiel's pretty much where he left him. Dean thinks he's probably been doing the staring off into space thing again. Contemplating freakish angel things, or praying, or...exchanging recipes for upside down cake with other angels. Who the hell knew.

Except, this time Castiel looks pretty damn uncomfortable, and it takes Dean a second to work it out-

He can't help it, he looks down.

Ok, that he _really_ hadn't been expecting.

"Bathroom's free if you want to-" Dean debates actually using the hand gesture he was about to. He's not a hundred percent sure Castiel would get it anyway.

There's a pause.

"I'm not permitted," Castiel says eventually.

"Not permitted what?"

"To bring myself sexual pleasure," Castiel clarifies helpfully.

Dean raises an eyebrow at him.

"You're not allowed to masturbate?"

The angel doesn't reply for a long second, as if he's turning the word over in his head.

"No."

"Well can't you just, I don't know, _make_ it go away?"

"I've tried," Castiel says slowly. "It's an impressively strong physical reaction."

Dean doesn't make any sort of joke about that, he's damned if he isn't tempted though. He looks down again, he can't help it, because it's _weird._

Castiel looks even more uncomfortable under the examination. He shifts in his clothes, in his skin, and on anyone else it would be fidgeting. But this is careful, almost wary. Like he's afraid his body might, at any moment, do something horrible and unexpected, without his permission. Dean gets the impression Jimmy's body doesn't get to do much of anything without Castiel's approval. No wonder he looks so freaked out. Given a weird and unnatural angelic baseline for _'freaked out.'_

It probably wouldn't take much.

Dean thinks you can probably stretch the rules for the guy that dragged you out of hell. If you're going to stretch the rules for anyone; it's not like Castiel would know _how_ even if he was allowed, and clearly since Dean _does,_ he can lend a hand.

Figuratively, and literally.

And if it's a little weird, it's a little weird.

Hell, Castiel's weird anyway, so it's just more weird on top of the weird that's already there.

Though, he still doesn't believe he's actually going to _ask_ this.

"So, would you be allowed to let someone else...take care of it? I mean if you do nothing, and I-" Dean waves a hand, and hopes to god that Castiel gets _that._ Because he kind of sucks at subtle. "You wouldn't get into trouble?"

"I wouldn't ask," Castiel says firmly, eyebrows pushed up, like Dean's just offered to throw himself on a grenade or something. Though what the hell he was intending to do about it is anyone's guess. And yeah, Dean gets that. Castiel would probably just stand there miserable, and vaguely confused, until his body got tired of being ignored and just gave up, or possibly _died._

"You're not asking, I am," Dean points out. He expects another protest, some scandalised affront, maybe even a lecture about how human beings spend far too much time trying to have sex with each other, in a variety of sinful ways.

But instead Castiel stays silent.

Possibly proving that the flesh is not only weak, it's also really, really distracting.

"Come here," Dean waves a hand, and he's not quite sure how he makes it a command, but Castiel drifts forward. He doesn't object, doesn't protest, when Dean presses him back against the wall.

"Close your eyes."

"Why?" It's honest curiosity, but really if there's ever a time for Castiel's to _not_ be doing the wide-eyed innocent look now would be it.

"Dude, I can't do this if you're _staring_ at me," Dean tells him, because he's an _angel_ for god's sake.

There's a long pause, and Castiel very slowly shuts his eyes.

It's not a fantastic help. He still manages to look somewhere between serene and quietly accusing.

"Keep them closed," he says, because it's true, there's no way he can do this if he's _looking_ at him.

He drags the edges of his shirt out of his slacks, digs underneath to get them open, pushing them down out of the way, boxer shorts too. It still feels wrong, all sorts of wrong. Like there's an outside chance he might be spontaneously set on fire.

He's fairly sure Castiel would have mentioned it if there was.

But then he has Castiel in his hand, a quick jerk of heat and hardness, against his palm.

Yeah, that's an impressively strong physical reaction alright.

Castiel inhales sharply.

Dean pushes his slacks down a little more, just enough to get more room, and then his hand is moving in slow, testing little pulls, that feel just the slightest bit obscene.

Castiel's hands stretch outward on the wall, then drop and hang uncertainly, like he doesn't know where to put them. He makes an abortive movement to put them on Dean, then seems to realise that's not appropriate, and leaves them hanging at his side instead.

"Great, this already feels like some sort of weird sexual assault," he really didn't mean to say that part out loud.

"Dean, I-"

"No talking!" Dean says fiercely. Of all the things you can probably go to hell for, 'molesting an angel' has to feature on the list somewhere, possibly between 'pillaging' and 'being Jack the Ripper.'

The fact that he has permission probably doesn't help.

Probably.

Dean doesn't ask if he can feel it, because it's already obvious. Wet little catches of breath, and the whisper-soft scratch of hair on the wall.

"Aren't you supposed to be beyond all of this stuff?" he can't resist asking quietly.

"Yes," Castiel agrees, then makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, that clearly makes him out to be a dirty, dirty _liar._ And he's obviously forgotten the whole 'not looking' rule, because when he tips his head back he's looking straight at Dean, eyes stunned.

Dean turns his head away, though that doesn't help much, because now Castiel's breathing in his ear, a wet flare of heat, and sensation. He really wants to tell him to _stop_ but he's forgotten how to make words, also, he's busy, and he's hurrying so he can get this over with, and not because- oh god- not because of _anything else_.

"Dean-"

Dean shushes him quiet, hand shifting between soft and rough, to match the shaky ends of every breath.

Castiel's hips move, they push, just a little, into Dean's hand, an unsteady half-there gesture that he probably doesn't intend, maybe doesn't even known he's done.

One of Castiel's shifting hands catches the soft edge of Dean's shirt, fingers a ghost-echo through fabric, and he doesn't even seem to notice. His eyes have fallen shut again, throat working in quick little swallows, and the idea that Dean's going to make him come doesn't seem entirely real-

Until Castiel's mouth drops open, he makes a soft, helpless, noise that goes lower, catches in his throat. Dean's hand is abruptly wet, and Castiel's making noises like he's _broken_ him.

 _Jesus fucking christ._

...

Castiel's breathing like a real live person, shuddery and messy, and close enough that Dean can feel every one where they're pressed together.

He's hazily aware that he's still touching, and now it's pretty much _unnecessary_ touching.

And he should stop.

He swallows, pulling Castiel's slacks back over the edges of his hips. His hand fucks it up twice before he manages to zip him up again, button, then he shoves Castiel's shirt back in his slacks for good measure.

"There, you're all better," Dean tells him and he really, really fucking hopes his voice is as awesomely calm and unconcerned as he wants it to be. Because he's going to look up, and Castiel is going to look exactly the same. Neat, and weird, and alien behind his strange eyes.

So he looks up.

But Castiel doesn't look the same at all, he still looks messy and breathless, red-cheeked, and molested all to hell.

Dean clears his throat.

"Thank you," Castiel says awkwardly, quietly, when it seems necessary, and yeah that's so wrong, wrong, _wrong._ But not as wrong as how wrecked he looks.

It makes Dean feel dirty.

He thinks maybe he needs another shower.

...

Though maybe a cold one this time.

  



End file.
